In the Ministry's Secret Service
by Andromeda Khun
Summary: James Bond receives a puzzling mission, one that will lead him to a certain underground Ministry...


Author's Note

House: Eagles

Class: Care of Magical Creatures

Category: Standard

Prompt: Crossover: James Bond

Word Count: 1651

A tall, slim man in a suit walked into the Prime Minister's office and awaited his orders. He kept his expression serious, but his curiosity was aroused. If the new Prime Minister summoned him, it was clearly a good sign: it meant that another adventure was on the horizon.

The Prime Minister coughed, "Agent 007, Mr. Bond, your superiors spoke highly of you. Apparently you stopped the nuclear bombing in New York?"

"Yes," Bond said in a smooth baritone. "I assume you need my expertise for a mission."

The Prime Minister nodded and glanced at a rather ugly painting on the wall. Bond frowned slightly, noting the Prime Minister's strangely pale face.  
"Mr. Bond, I need you to infiltrate a… secret organization in London. This group is extremely dangerous and I have virtually no information." He paused, then handed Bond a large envelope. "This file contains your mission information. You are dismissed."

At this abrupt dismissal, Bond stood and exited the room, carefully keeping his confusion from showing.

* * *

Bond blew a puff of cigarette smoke, looking across the grey water of the Thames, lost in thought. As he began walking along the river, he mulled over the suspicious parts of the meeting. First: the new Prime Minister seemed unduly nervous. Second: the Prime Minister seemed much too eager to send him on the mission. He had never asked Bond if he wanted the mission, thereby breaking MI6 protocol. And third: the dossier. Everything about it was flawed. Evidently, the writer of the mission information was in a hurry, as Bond had noticed at least twenty grammatical errors.

Pulling out the file, Bond ran his eyes over its contents and grimaced. Grammatical mistakes aside, the meaning of the sentences was utter hogwash. "_Infiltrate the Ministry of _Magic"? "_Be cautious, they are _wizards _and can cast spells"?_

In a deft motion, he extinguished his cigarette and hailed a taxi. Something suspicious was happening in London, and he would not allow anything to harm her. And of course, he would never turn away an interesting mission.

Bond smiled and entered a taxi cab.

* * *

It was the typical grimy, graffitied London street. Miserable, grungy offices lined one side of the road, and the other side had a few seedy pubs. Bond walked into a dingy office that he had rented and looked through the window. After focusing his binoculars, he concentrated on a run-down, red telephone booth halfway down the street.

He sighed. In the mission information, the Prime Minister had given him the address of this certain street. Apparently, this was the area that the "Ministry of Magic" had built a visitor entrance, and they had needed the Prime Minister's signature to do it.

Unwaveringly, he kept his binoculars fixed on the street below while he began speculating on the true nature of his mission. Obviously, the part about wizards was the bait, the unbelievable hook meant to draw him into a trap. Of course, Bond had no intention of being caught-instead he would spring the trap and capture his would-be captors. Who made the trap, how the Prime Minister was involved, and why they would use _wizards_ in their bait, would hopefully be explained once Bond interrogated them.

Suddenly, Bond caught sight of a person quickly walking towards the phone booth. He narrowed his eyes. When he checked earlier, that telephone booth was completely broken. Also, this person was wearing an odd black dress and a pointed hat.

As he watched, this person entered the booth, dialled something, then-disappeared?!

He lit a cigarette, and inhaled. Either he had underestimated his enemy, or… no. The other possibility was barely worth considering.

* * *

The street lamp flickered, throwing Bond into utter darkness. Night had fallen, and after witnessing five people disappearing in the phone booth, Bond felt ready to attempt it. Last time a person had disappeared, Bond had been standing near the booth and memorized the number she had dialled.

He strode to the dull red booth and stepped inside. Ignoring the stains and stickiness in the phone booth, he began dialling on the telephone. _6-2-4-4-2_

Bond raised an eyebrow at the code. If one took the numbers and matched them with the letters associated with phone numbers, it made the word MAGIC. 6: **M**NO 2: **A**BC 4:**G**HI 4: GH**I **2:AB**C**

As soon as he finished, he picked up the telephone. A cool female voice spoke to him, and Bond instinctively reached for his gun. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."

The voice sounded as though someone were in the booth, talking to him. Bond turned around slowly, but did not see anyone.

Bond said nonchalantly, "I am Mr. Johnson, and I am here to clean the floors."

"Thank you," the female voice replied.

Abruptly, the booth shuddered and Bond felt himself begin to descend. An elevator in a telephone booth? The pavement seemed to rise until Bond was surrounded by the ground. He stood in darkness for a moment, then light appeared. The elevator came even with an opening, and Bond concealed himself in the shadows, his gun drawn. Things were becoming very strange, and he intended to solve this mystery.

He darted out of the elevator, crouched in a corner, then surveyed the room. And something very rare happened: Bond was completely dumbfounded.

In front of him was a hall, no, a grand ballroom. Halfway down this room was an enormous fountain and golden statues standing in the middle. Odd gold coins glittered in the pool of the fountain. Somehow, golden letters were _changing_ on the ceiling, and gilded fireplaces were set on either side of him.

If this was a trap, it was a very odd one. It certainly didn't feel like the thirty-six other traps he had seen. And yet, if this weren't a trap, it would mean magic existed.

Suddenly, he felt air move behind him. Bond felt a light tap on his shoulder-

And faster than thought, his muscles reacted. He stepped away, turned, and drew his gun to find-an empty space.

Slowly, his gun raised, he carefully examined the room around him. Finally, he called, "I know you're there. If you don't show yourself I _will _shoot."

His voice echoed in the silence. And yet, Bond's instincts shouted to keep his gun up. Then a sigh came from seemingly empty space. "All right, all right, you caught me." From the sound of his voice he was a young man. Then, like an invisible curtain, _something_ was pulled off the young man's head.

Bond's eyes widened, but he pushed his disbelief and awe out of his mind. If he tried to focus on the "why" or "how" of this situation, his abilities would be impaired. So instead, he forced himself to concentrate on the person standing before him. He was tall teenager with untidy black hair, and a beaming smile.

"Merlin! How did you know I was there?" His accent was from southwestern England, with a trace of Scottish. Bond noticed the use of Merlin as an exclamation, and filed that information away. However, he did not lower his gun.

Bond replied evenly, "You're not the one with the gun, young man. I ask the questions. Now, tell me about magic."

The young man glanced at Bond's gun, and, seeming completely unperturbed, said, "Sorry, mate. I could get in some deep trouble if I broke the Statute of Secrecy." He grinned apologetically. "I know someone that isn't affected by the Statute of Secrecy, though. Shall I take you to him?"

After pausing for a moment, Bond nodded. Then the young man stuck out his hand, and Bond almost pulled the trigger.

"Muggles shake hands, right?"

"But usually not in situations like this." Nevertheless, Bond evaluated the young man, judged him not to be a threat, and shook his hand. "The name is Bond...James Bond."

"Hm, well then I'm Potter...James Potter."

Slowly, Bond let his gun fall to his side, but did not put it away.

James stepped towards the elevator and motioned for Bond to follow. Moments later, when the elevator arrived at the Level Two, the female voice announced, "Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"You're taking me to the police?" Bond cooly asked.

"Nah, I'm taking you to see a friend of mine. The only reason I'm here was to ask him about the Order."

"The Order?"

James looked away, and didn't answer, instead pointing at a door. The placard on it read, "Alastor Moody". He opened the door, ushered Bond in, and called, "Hey Mad-Eye. Y'know how you wanted a Muggle operative?"

A grizzled, scarred man with a fake eye sat in the office. He looked up from some gold coins, and barked, "James-"

Bond noted the golden coins, then interrupted him smoothly, "Hello Mr. Moody. Mr. Potter said that you could explain magic to me."

Narrowing his eyes, Moody growled, "Look, Muggle, it's not worth it for me to _break the law_, so you can satisfy your curiosity.

"Moody," James interjected, "Mr. Bond managed to detect me under his Invisibility Cloak. Also, he somehow found a way into the Atrium without magic."

A light of interest sparked in Moody's eyes, and he asked, "How _did _you sense Mr. Potter without magic?"

Wryly, Bond said, "Perhaps it was the faint smell of chocolate in the air, the slight sound of another person breathing, or perhaps it was the corner of a shoe that wasn't connected to anything else."

Moody paused, then grunted. "I do need a Muggle operative right now. The Aurors are crippled because we can't blend in with the Muggles, and some missions require extended Muggle contact."

Pulling out a cigarette, Bond lit it, then raised an eyebrow, "Then I believe we can come to an arrangement."

After all, his mission and his curiosity, would be more easily satisfied if he infiltrated the wizards…


End file.
